


Freefall

by WolfstarGarden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfstarGarden/pseuds/WolfstarGarden
Summary: Remus isn't the best flier - but a handsome steward certainly makes it easier.





	Freefall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starstruck4Moony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starstruck4Moony/gifts).



> This is not writing. This is almost 100% extracted from my real life. Yes. Unfortunately true.
> 
> Also - why is James here? I don't know, I can't control that guy. He's just gotta be a scene stealer.
> 
> Another prompt by the delectable Starstruck4Moony. Enjoy! :)

Remus loathed flying. He sat in his cramped seat, wishing desperately for fresh air and somewhere to put his feet.

They had been in the air for more than five hours and Remus was at the point where he could quite happily throw off his clothes and run screaming along the aisles. James was vaguely stroking his hand and murmuring soothing reassurances which did absolutely nothing to settle Remus’ strafed nerves.

Air travel was bitter torture – the cramped confines made his skin crawl, persistent nausea and pressure pounding inside his brain, an irrational fear that the plane would either blow up or decide that the natural laws of gravity were being pushed too far and would simply drop from the sky like a pheasant...

Remus was lucky James put up with him, really.

This flight was rather better than most – though it _definitely_ had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the steward assigned to their zone. If Remus cracked his eyes open at the rattle of the trolley, or every time a quick, confident step caught his ear ... well, that was pure coincidence.

Of course Remus had _noticed_ the steward – it was hard not to when he’d done the safety demonstration from only one row away. It was a perfect spot to watch the shift of shirt and trouser, of smooth, shrouded body.

“He was watching you,” James had murmured as they taxied.

“What?” Remus snapped, trying to concentrate on not panicking.

James had laughed. “If you’d looked up from his crotch you would have noticed.”

True, it was nice to have someone pretty to look at during the enforced hell of flying, and it was even nicer to imagine the handsome steward being close and smiling beneath the flick of a suggestive eyebrow – maybe a little conversation, discovery of a mutual interest, learning they lived within easy distance of one another...

It was just a very vague fantasy. Besides, Remus was far too concentrated on eternal misery to notice anything at all ... certainly not broad shoulders flexing beneath a red linen shirt, or a cheeky, conspiratorial grin; not startling grey eyes or a shiny knot of dark hair.

“Won’t be much longer, Moony,” James murmured, rubbing gentle circles into Remus’ radial pulse. He grunted in reply, then whined piteously as the plane rocked violently through a bubble of turbulence.

A sudden cry of outrage echoed from the seat in front of them and Remus’ eyes flickered open.

The steward was reaching across the seat in front, a look of horror marring his perfect face. “I’m so sorry,” he said deferentially. “Please excuse me – just leaned across at the wrong moment...”

“You spilled it all over my leg,” snapped an angry voice.

Remus forced his eyes further open and glanced sideways at James. His eyes were closed, headphones in place, wearing a benign smile as he pressed his hand around Remus’ wrist.

“I can get you a towel, or...”

“A towel won’t get this _out_!”

“I really am very sorry, the plane just rocked at the wrong-”

“Well, I would think you’d be trained for _rocking_. This is your _job_ isn’t it? Don’t you do this every day?”

Remus ignored his discomfort and concentrated fully on the exchange. Through the seats he saw a sliver of red, angry face. Remus glanced across to the steward, absorbing his expression: he looked rattled beneath his professional composure, a placatory smile at odds with the flinty indignation in his eyes.

But his voice was remarkable, steely calm. “Yes, of course. It’s just that-”

“Your excuses won’t dry me off – _oh_! This is simply not good enough.”

There was a hard edge to the steward’s jaw, “I understand that this is very inconvenient for you.”

“It’s more than inconvenient! I’m sitting here in wet trousers, you’ve spilled my drink all over me and my husband, and we have nothing to change into until after our connecting flight!”

A spike of righteous irritation glimmered inside Remus’ sorrow-ridden chest. Yes, it sucked having something wet sloshed over your clothes – but it was _clearly_ accidental. There was no rhyme or reason in taking the hide off the poor man. What more they expected Remus could not imagine.

The steward pressed a hard smile across his face. “Give me a moment and let me see what we can offer you in the way of an apology.”

The loud complaints continued as the man stepped neatly away. After a few moments of vacant waiting, Remus allowed himself to settle back into miserable torpor. Time waivered; at length a voice broke back to the forefront of his mind. “The airline would like to offer you these vouchers with our apologies.”

“I suppose that’s the best you can do, is it?” the woman bit, not remotely mollified. A throb of white fury spiked through Remus’ veins. “I expected better service from an airline like this.” She snatched the dockets from the steward’s hand.

“You have my personal sorry as well.” The steward made one last, valiant attempt at professionalism.

“Yes, yes, well I think you’ve done quite enough – you can go away now.”

Remus blinked, astonished. He wanted to say something, but the steward perched a frosty smile onto his mouth and stalked off in the other direction.

Remus watched for the return of that confident stride. He could not allow that level of social injustice to go unchecked. It wasn’t _right_. It was disgusting. So Remus waited, fighting to prevent his torment from overriding everything else. He wondered if he should use the hail signal to apologise so he could conscionably tumble back into blissfully undisturbed despair.

They were preparing for landing, and the steward reappeared to check seats and window shades. James was force-feeding Remus chunks of chocolate-covered ginger and tapping a calming rhythm against his pulse. “This is it, Moony. We’ll be down before you know it.”

The steward reached them, primed with a disarming smile. Remus made sure to speak first. “Hey, are you alright?” he gestured to the couple in front.

The steward’s smile eased into something fully personal, the line of the his shoulders softening. “Yeah, thanks. It’s just frustrating.”

Remus frowned, half hoping the couple in question would hear him. “There was _no_ need for that level of rudeness. I get that she was upset, but it was an accident. I can’t stand when people can’t accept an apology graciously.”

The steward looked both startled and deeply gratified. “Thank you,” he said, leaning closer. “It’s just so ridiculous though – it was lemonade and she’s wearing track bottoms.”

“What?” Remus deadpanned. He was struggling to appear as though he wasn’t ruffled by their proximity. Despite his suffering he felt delightfully intoxicated.

James was watching them with interest. He spoke suddenly, “You’re a Londoner.”

“Er – yes.” The steward replied, bemused.

Quite conversationally, James said, “My friend wants your number.”

“Excuse me?”

James grinned slowly. “Look, if he weren’t a puddle of nauseated anxiety he’d ask you himself. Go on, give him your number.”

“Well, I thought ... aren’t you two..?” the question faded as light eyes darted to where James’ reassuring fingers encircled Remus’ wrist.

Both Remus and James roared with laughter. The steward’s expression cracked, and then he grinned. “My mistake. My name’s Sirius,” he said smoothly, glancing at Remus who recognised the etchings of a subtle hope. “And you’re very welcome to my phone number.”

Remus floundered, but James was perfectly sanguine. He snatched Remus’ boarding pass from within the cover of his phone and handed it to Sirius to write on.

At that moment another steward approached. Sirius threw Remus a brief, devastated glance as he was forced to move on with his checks. “Arh ... excuse me.”

 “Goddammit,” James cried a moment later. “What kinda timing – you were in there, Moony!”

Disappointed and slightly embarrassed, Remus replied by slumping against the uncomfortable seat and letting his eyes flutter shut again. There was no reason to be upset – he’d said what he’d wanted to. Now he just had to make it through landing without his skin bubbling off or his head exploding.

James seemed to understand; his grip tightened marginally and he fell silent.

Remus breathed a sigh of relief when they finally touched down. The engines roared into reverse as they zagged down the runway and shortly afterwards he and James joined the queue of stiff and frustrated passengers waiting in the aisles. James tapped him gently, “Feeling okay, Moony?”

“Mm,” Remus murmured vaguely. “Better when we get outta here and I can breathe real air again.”

“Won’t be long,” James said reassuringly. “Shame about that Sirius bloke though.”

 Remus secretly agreed. Sirius had impressed him – and he was physically appealing. Still, it was the type of thing that was pure fantasy. He shrugged it off as they began to shuffle along the aisle.

The host staff were positioned alongside the bulkheads, all with smiling faces. Remus was sure Sirius was in the other direction, but he was still disappointed when he couldn’t see him ahead.

James’ hand was a gentle steadiness, guiding him as they padded along. They stepped into the last compartment – and amazingly there he was: Sirius, nodding his charming smile to the passengers filtering past.

Something dived sharp through Remus’ belly. He tried to smother it; there was no point in making a fool of himself now.

Then Sirius saw him and his grey eyes lit up, a brilliant sparkle crinkling his smile. Remus wished sincerely that he didn’t still feel like a corpse-man. He forced something like a smile and politely slipped his hand into Sirius’ outstretched one. Fingers curled around his palm, warm and comforting like a favourite jumper on a winter’s day.

Sirius eased closer, and instead of the stock farewell he murmured, “You’d better bloody call me tomorrow.”

Remus stepped away with his own crumpled boarding pass pressed into his hand.

The line of passengers pushed them on before he could reply with anything more than an astounded nod.

Waiting until they were off the plane, Remus glanced down at the glossy paper. There was a stream of numbers followed by the words _I mean it – call me tomorrow. Sirius._ A gentle grin pulled across his face.

James peered over his shoulder and whooped with laughter. “Thank god!”

Remus closed the paper in his fist and they walked on. He felt a little better with every step.

 

 


End file.
